


Good times Good

by readingtoujours



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Childhood Friends, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Young Baz, young Simon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23191798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readingtoujours/pseuds/readingtoujours
Summary: AU in which Baz and Simon are neighbors. Baz’s parents are never home and Simon’s are always fighting. Simon seeks comfort in Baz’s house.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 11
Kudos: 118





	Good times Good

Baz was sitting on the couch the way he always did when they watched movies together, his long legs bent over the cushion with his feet resting on the floor. His arms were crossed in front of his expensive sweater. He wasn’t wearing shoes, but he was wearing stockings that looked thick. Baz was always cold. 

Simon was curled up on the other side of the couch. His jeans had holes in them and the skin of his knees strained against the fabric when he curled his legs beneath him. He was wearing an old hoodie. Baz liked to make fun of the weird stains that were on the sleeves. 

They both weren’t talking, watching the figures on the TV. Neither of them were paying attention. Simon was tired; his thoughts felt like they were running through molasses and he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

Baz was wide awake. He was trying to keep his hands to himself when all they seemed to want to do was reach across the couch and push Simon’s curls off his forehead. Simon was so warm and soft. Baz’s heart swelled with Simon’s exhales. When he breathed out, the tassels on the blanket he was smashing his face against fluttered. 

“Hey, Chosen One,” Baz used a nickname for Simon that Simon hated. His voice barely reached above a whisper, even though they were the only ones in the apartment. 

Simon raised his head groggily. Crowley, he looked adorable. Baz wanted to grab him and squeeze him. He wanted to make of painting of how Simon looked with his curls tumbling down his head and his eyes half opened. He wanted to paint his walls the color of Simon’s cheeks, a warm pink. 

“Want to go to bed?” This was a common routine for them. Baz’s apartment shared a wall with Simon’s apartment. When Baz heard Simon’s parents screaming at each other, he automatically pulled the air mattress out of his closet and inflated it. He knew which of his spare sheets Simon liked best (the blue ones; they were softest) and he knew exactly how many pillows Simon preferred to sleep with. 

Anywhere from five minutes to an hour after the screaming started, Baz would hear things shatter, and eventually a knock on his door. 

Simon was his best friend. Baz appreciated him more than anything else on the planet. Even if he wished they could be more -- he cut the thought from his head. Simon made Baz happy, regardless of the label they used to describe their relationship. 

Baz appreciated that Simon trusted him. He appreciated that Simon was willing to be vulnerable around him. “Come over anytime,” Baz had told Simon when Simon first told Baz about his parents’ fighting. “Seriously. You live right next door… and it makes me happy to know you’re safe.” 

Simon had smiled widely at Baz. He shoved his hand into the hair on the top of his head and tugged it. “Thank you, Baz. Agh. I don’t know how to tell you how grateful I am.” 

Baz smiled back. He was patient with Simon. Simon wasn’t always the best with words, with saying how he felt. He explained this to Baz once, during one of their sleepovers.

“Speaking is like jumping rope. Once I catch the rhythm it’s easy, but usually I just stand there, the rope slapping my ankles until I get all tangled up in it.” Simon was lying in his air mattress on Baz’s floor on his back, his face pointing towards the ceiling. Baz was on his bed lying on his side, his head pillowed on his bent arm facing Simon on the floor. 

They were both whispering. The house was silent, but a comforting silence, not an eerie one. Baz could see Simon better than Simon could see Baz, so he could see the way Simon smiled and laughed when he replied, “I’ve seen you jump rope, Snow. I don’t think you’ve ever caught the rhythm.” Baz rarely called Simon by his first name. He usually called him by his last, Snow, or by a variety of nicknames. Simon found this comforting, that he could admit one of his deepest secrets -- how talking made him feel -- and Baz didn’t feel the need to respond with overwhelming sympathy. 

Simon now groaned, blinking too hard, trying to refocus his tired eyes. “I don’t want to get up.” 

“I’ll carry you,” Baz responded, mock-threateningly. He was only half-kidding. 

Simon laughed, rubbing the back of his hands across his eyes. “I’ll walk.” He got up ungracefully and walked to Baz’s room. Baz grabbed the remote to turn off the TV and then followed Simon. When he got into his room he saw that Simon was already on his air mattress face lying on his stomach, his face in the pillow. 

“Are you going to sleep like that, Snow? No pajamas?”

“Hmmph.” Simon turned his head to the side slightly. “Too tired.”

Baz rolled his eyes and walked to the bathroom to get ready for bed. 

When Baz got back to his room he saw that Simon hadn’t moved positions from where he was when Baz left the room. He seemed to be asleep now, his back rising and falling slowly. Baz smiled affectionately at him (since Simon wouldn’t be able to see the amount of love in Baz’s eyes) and climbed into his own bed.

He fell asleep. 

***

It was very early in the morning (or very late at night depending on how you look at it) when Baz woke up. Simon was sitting up in the mattress on Baz’s floor, his comforter pooled around his knees. 

Baz could hear screaming next door. The wall only muffled the words themselves, not the strength and the hatred behind the screams. Simon’s parents had always fought, but it was only recently that the fighting had gotten so bad. Baz sat up in bed and turned his body so his back was pressed against the wall and he was sitting cross-legged on top of his mattress. 

“Baz,” Simon rasped. “You’re awake.” Simon sounded more alert than he had last night, but his voice was still raw. It was raw with emotion this time, not tiredness.

“Yeah… Are you alright? Is everything alright?” 

Baz wished he could climb into bed with Simon and hug him, holding him until the shouting stopped. He wished he could run his hands through Simon’s hair and rub Simon’s back until Simon fell asleep again. He wished he could take a vacuum and suck all of the bad out of Simon’s life forever. He wished he could pull the sun out of the sky and wrap it around Simon like a blanket.

Simon deserved to be happy. Baz wished he could give Simon everything he deserved. 

Baz didn’t realize how much happiness he already gave Simon. 

Simon looked up at Baz. Baz couldn’t see Simon’s face too well, but he could make out the basic outline of Simon’s features. Simon was frowning and his eyebrows were drawn in. “They’re fighting again. They’ve been at it for almost two hours now. I just - I just want it to stop.” 

Simon looked so sad, so vulnerable. Baz could feel his heart breaking into two. “I want them to stop fighting.” 

Simon’s words kept swirling around in Baz’s brain. Baz wanted the same thing too. Baz wanted them to stop fighting. Baz wanted them to stop fighting so that Simon would smile like he used to. Simon used to smile with his whole face, his cheeks plumping up and his eyes burrowing shut and his ears pulling back.

Selfishly, Baz also wanted them to stop fighting so that Simon would start going to Baz’s apartment on his own accord, not just as an escape. 

Simon was staring down at his lap now. He was still frowning, and he’d begun picking at the hem of the comforter. He looked tense and sad and wrought out. He looked like he was on the edge of a cliff. Baz wanted to pull him over the edge back to steady land. 

“Come sit up here, Snow.” Baz said, patting the part of the bed next to where he was sitting. Simon looked up at the bed and his eyebrows raised just a little. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He climbed off his mattress and onto Baz’s bed. One of Baz’s sheets got tangled to his legs and he had to pause to untangle himself.

“Graceful,” Baz smirked. His smirk was softer than usual, less sarcastic. 

While Simon was getting himself situated the screams got particularly loud. Simon tensed up so hard he nearly fell off the bed. Without thinking, Baz grabbed Simon’s hand. 

Baz had always known that Simon was warm, but he hadn’t ever thought Simon’s warmth would feel so good like this. Baz had gripped Simon’s hand tightly to get him back onto the bed, but he was now holding Simon’s hand loosely. Simon adjusted their hands so that their fingers were laced together. He gripped Baz’s hand tightly, and settled next to Baz with a thump. He shook the bed a little.

The screaming from the apartment next door lulled. Simon’s whole side was pressed up against Baz. Simon’s whole body was so warm, and Baz’s whole body was so cold. 

There was a crash, and Simon’s breath hitched. Baz reached his arm around and tugged him closer, pulling until Simon was sitting against Baz’s leg, the entirety of his back lining Baz’s chest. Simon pushed his face into Baz’s neck. His eyes were wet. Baz’s heart cracked. He rubbed circles onto Simon’s back.

“You’re my best friend in the entire world,” he whispered into Simon’s ear. “The best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

Simon reached his hands onto Baz’s hip, taking fistfulls of the fabric there and holding it. Baz kept whispering things into Simon’s ear, about how good he was, how kind, how he was the best person Baz had ever met, how grateful Baz was to have known him.

“You too,” Simon thought back to Baz. “You too, you too, you too.” Baz was the best thing that had ever happened to Simon by far. So far that it hurt him sometimes when he thought about the future, thought about the fact that no one would ever live up to Baz. 

Baz quieted, but kept rubbing circles on Simon’s back, and Simon felt so loved, so cared for, that he thought he might explode. 

Some time passed. The two of them stayed like that, curled around each other.

The noise on the other side of Baz’s wall hadn’t stopped, but it was quieter now. Simon could breathe again. He looked up at Baz. “Thank you,” he said. His chest was a jumble of warmth and goodness and peace. Because of Baz. Crowley. He didn’t know how to articulate how much Baz meant to him.

“I --” he tried, then stopped. Baz moved his hand from Simon’s back to Simon’s hair and began massaging the back of Simon’s scalp. Any tension that was left in Simon’s body left. He didn’t know if he had a spine anymore.

“I’m listening,” Baz assured.

“Nothing’s okay without you,” Simon tried, failing horribly. “You… you make everything okay. You make it good. Everything. Not just the fighting, but life. You said I was the best friend, but that’s you. Crowley, Baz, you’re… I don’t know. You’re the best times ten. Good times good.” Once he started talking he couldn’t stop.

Baz’s eyes went soft, and he pulled Simon with both of his arms into a hug. 

There was another crash on the other side of the wall, but Simon didn’t flinch as hard as he usually did. Baz curled Simon’s hair around his ear and thought about how lucky he would be if he could stay there like that -- with Simon in his arms, so warm, so loved and so loving -- for forever.

He pressed his nose to Simon’s hair, and they took a deep breath together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are always appreciated!


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